


Choices Made

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's actions in the past might have a profound effect on the future, including on his own marriage. How much should Al tell him?  How much does Sam remember?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices Made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itemfinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itemfinder/gifts).



“Admiral.” 

Al woke instantly at the sound of Ziggy’s voice. He was in bed—alone, more’s the pity—and the clock said 02:21. Al groaned. “This had better be—“

“He’s Leaped. He needs you.” There was no inflection in the computer’s voice, which alerted Al to the seriousness of the situation as much as the words did. 

He scrambled out of bed. “How much time have I—?”

“If you intend to dress, given the range of your wardrobe and your usual rate of—“

“Just answer the question.” Al was already moving towards the closet.

“The incident that will paralyze him won’t happen for another 2.32 hours.”

Al stilled. In his hand, he held a green silk shirt he had pulled from a hanger. “Oh, boy.”

He made it to the control room in ten minutes and found Gooshie there ahead of him, looking rumpled. Gooshie silently passed the handlink to him. Al headed for the imaging chamber, gleaning as much information from the handlink as he could while he walked. The door closed behind him and there was the usual sense of seasickness as the chamber vanished to be replaced with holographic images of…

A restaurant. A crowded restaurant. Al sighed with relief when he spied Sam. He was at a table with another man, apparently in the middle of dinner. Al jabbed at the handlink as he walked towards Sam’s table. Sam’s dinner companion was a handsome blond, whose hair style would have told Al it was the seventies even if he hadn’t read Ziggy’s brief. As he neared the table, Al saw the food spread out before them. His stomach growled from the sight alone.

“Oysters, lobster! Salad Niçoise! Oh, Sam…” 

Sam’s head turned quickly. “Al—“

“Al?” The handsome man looked up with a fork in his hand.

“Al-right,” Sam said, with a quick smile, “let’s dig in.” He glanced at Al again. “Except—“

Al scowled. “Aw, Sam, you’re not going to abandon that lobster now, are you? It’ll get cold!”

“I have to go—“

“Not the head _again_ , Sam—“

“Make a quick phone call.” Sam stood, glaring at Al as he did so.

“Well…” The man took a bite of lobster, his expression one of bliss as he chewed and swallowed. “I’d hurry back if I were you. I’m hungry.” He looked meaningfully at Sam’s lobster. 

Sam gave the man a look, but signaled to Al to follow him to a hallway containing bathrooms and a pay telephone. Sam picked up the handset to the phone. “What do you know, Al?”

Al shrugged. “Well, lots.” He grinned at Sam’s expression. “All right, all right.” He poked at the handlink, reading the information quickly. “You’re Rob Stevenson. An accomplish—Accomp—“ He slapped the handlink. “Oh! Accompanist.” He lowered the handlink and looked at Sam. “You play the piano for people.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, Rob does. And he’s here to help your friend,” Al waved in the general direction of the dining room, “Peter—“

“Schuler.” Sam looked at Al with a frown. “Do I know him? He seems familiar somehow.”

“Uh…not that I know of.” Al poked again at the handlink, and gave it a another whack for good measure. “We have no data on that. Anyway, he’s here to—“

“Audition for the Boston Pops. I figured that much out already.”

Al played up a crestfallen look. “You don’t need me.”

“I can’t accompany him!” Sam looked around guiltily as he realized how loud he’d been. His voice was softer as he spoke again: “I can’t—“

“Sure you can.”

“What?”

“You play the piano.”

“I do?”

Al rolled his eyes. “We’ve been through this before, Sam. Remember when you Leaped into— No, you don’t remember.” He sighed. “You can play the piano. You played Carnegie, for God’s sake.”

“Oh.” He looked at Al. “But—“

“But you’re not going to get the chance, anyway.”

“Why? What’s going to happen?”

“Tonight you’re going to get mugged on your way home from this restaurant.” 

“I get killed?”

“No. You fall on the curb during the altercation and break your neck.” He held Sam’s gaze. “You’re paralyzed from the neck down.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Okay. So, we know what I’m here to do.”

Al nodded. “Give them the violin.”

“Violin?”

Al gestured with the handlink. “Yeah. That’s what they take—a violin.”

“Peter’s.”

“Presumably so.”

“But he needs that for his audition.”

“So he can use another one.”

“Al, it’s not that simple!” Sam looked around again, and this time hunched over the phone and turned towards the wall. A man and woman walked past them, eyebrows raised. “A violin’s like a… Like a…”

“Woman?”

Sam looked exasperated. “No! But you can’t just replace it—“

“You can’t replace a woman, either.” Al thought about it, looking into the distance. “Although…”

“We need to stop the robbery, Al.”

“That’s what causes the paralysis in the first place! Rob put up a fight. You need to keep him from being paralyzed.”

“I know! I will. I’ll do both.”

“Sam.”

“Where does this happen?”

Al sighed and consulted the handlink. “Three streets over, in an alley.”

“Fine, so we won’t go that way.”

“Yeah.” Al didn’t look at him.

“What?” When Al didn’t say anything, Sam repeated: “What?”

“It’s never that easy, is it?” He met Sam’s eyes.

“Yeah, but I know what’s going to happen.” Sam said. “I’ve got you in my corner, right?”

“Of course.”

“So I’ll go eat my dinner and do my best not to get paralyzed. You find out if there’s anything else I should know, okay?”

“Okay.” Al opened the imaging chamber door. “But walk home a different way, Sam.” He backed through the doorway and closed it. As always, it took a moment to re-orient himself to the real world. Virtual gaming had nothing on the imaging chamber. They should have sold the Project to the gaming industry and retired to a beach somewhere, with nothing more to worry about than dinner. “Ziggy! Do you have any more details?

“I have given you all of the pertinent information, Admiral.”

“Well, give me the un-pertinent information, then!”

“Your overly emotional reaction whenever—“ 

“Just do it, Ziggy. Oh, and find out more about this Peter Schuler. Sam thinks he might know him.” Al walked through to the control room, surprised to find Verbena waiting for him. “Late night?”

She smiled. “Or early morning depending on your point of view.” She answered Al’s unspoken question: “You know I like to check immediately on our ‘guests’. Even on Christmas morning.”

He had forgotten it was Christmas. It wasn’t relevant, although it was why he had been sleeping alone. Tina was with her family. “How is he?” Al glanced towards the Waiting Room. 

“He’s hungry.”

Al winced. “He was expecting lobster.”

“I’ve done my best, but you know what our cafeteria provides. He’s worried about his friend’s audition. He says it’s his final attempt at a music career. It’s either that or medicine. He believes we are interfering with that choice.”

Al rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, it’s not his friend I’m worried about.”

“Will Sam be all right?”

“Sam can take care of himself.” Verbena looked relieved at his words. Al wished he could reassure himself as easily. It helped to be doing, so he dug into the research Ziggy coordinated, but there was relatively little of that. Rob Stevenson was paralyzed after the attack. The violin was never recovered. The muggers were never caught. Peter, the med student, saved Rob’s life at the scene, but Rob obviously never played the piano again. Peter ended up as a doctor in a rehab center. He apparently had never been in the same location as Sam, so Al couldn’t see how they could ever have met. In effect, he had found out zip. Nada. Nothing that would help Sam beyond what they already knew: prevent Rob’s injury. Al took a moment to light a cigar, relaxing into the familiar routine. The truth was, neither he nor Sam believed in straightforward Leaps anymore. He closed his eyes for a moment, damning, yet again, God, Time, Fate or Whatever was Leaping Sam around, “putting right what once went wrong”, regardless of the danger or cost to Sam himself. The Project was never supposed to have worked like this; they were never supposed to have had the ability to change the past. That was dangerous—far more dangerous than risking one man’s life. It was the first, most basic rule of the Project: you can’t change the past. But it had all gone caca after that first, premature Leap. And Sam…

Sam _had_ wanted to change his own past, as it turned out. Al sometimes wondered if it had been that subconscious desire that had fueled Sam’s brilliance and perseverance on the Project. Certainly, Sam had not been able to resist attempting to change his own past when the opportunity had presented itself. First, there had been Donna, and then, more directly, his father, sister, and brother. Sam had learned there were limits, just as Al had had to learn when he’d tried to get Sam to interfere with Beth’s choices. He hadn’t been successful, Beth had still divorced him, and it had nearly led to an innocent man losing his life. Yet Sam hadn’t given up trying to save Tom. The cost, though, had been high: Maggie’s death and Al’s continued incarceration with the VC. Al took a long drag on his cigar. Maggie might well have willingly traded her life for that Pulitzer. He himself had helped Sam save Tom, even knowing the cost he would bear. How could he have denied Sam his brother? Al had stayed a prisoner, and he’d lost Beth yet again. What he hadn’t told Sam—would never tell Sam—was that in the new history, he’d known about the photograph. He’d known it had been taken when he was on that forced march with the VC. It had fed his hope that Beth would see the photograph and would wait for him. He could remember both histories, and the devastation of Beth’s abandonment had been much harder to bear in the second version. 

“Admiral.” It was Gooshie on the comm link.

“Yes?”

“According to Ziggy’s calculations, they have left the restaurant.”

“On my way.” Synchronizing time with Sam when he was in a Leap was always complicated. Time flowed differently in the two realities. Sometimes, they were nearly in sync as Sam progressed through his Leap; other times Sam’s time stream flowed more quickly or slowly. They had learned, however, that Al couldn’t place himself into an earlier part of Sam’s time stream once he had made contact during a Leap. So Ziggy monitored the Leap with whatever data was available, trying to track changes and determine Sam’s location and actions. More often than not, Ziggy succeeded, but Al worried nevertheless. He picked up the handlink, nodded at Gooshie, and entered the imaging chamber. 

The chamber dissolved around him and Al found himself in a darkened alley. Dammit! It felt as if his heart leapt into his throat. He heard cars in the distance and, nearby, a groan. Al spun around and saw Sam on the ground. “Sam!” He hurried over as Sam groaned again. “Are you all right? What happened? I _told_ you to stay out of—“

“They got away with it.” Sam’s voice was worryingly weak. He struggled to sit up. Al instinctively reached out a hand to help him, but stopped before he would have verified his inability to touch. 

“You fool.” Al moved as close to Sam as he could get. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I’m fine. But—“

“There’s blood on your face, Sam!”

Sam shook his head. “That’s because they hit me on the head. You know how head wounds bleed.” He ducked as Al reached towards him, as if he thought Al really could touch him. “I’m okay.” His voice was stronger. He felt the top of his head and winced.

Al pressed his lips together, then sighed. He took a quick puff on his cigar. “What happened? Why didn’t you go—?”

“We went a different way; this is a different alley! They must have followed us from the restaurant.”

“And you fought them, even though you knew the original history.”

“What else could I do, Al?”

“Rob!” 

Sam and Al both looked towards the entrance to the alley. Peter ran towards them. “Rob, are you all right? Oh my God, you’re hurt.” 

Al instinctively stepped aside as Peter passed through him to kneel down beside Sam. “And where were _you_?” Al spoke to Peter, although he knew he couldn’t hear him. 

“I’m fine,” Sam said to Peter. “Are you okay? They knocked you down.” He sent a speaking look towards Al.

Al shrugged but didn’t feel very apologetic.

“Just bruises. But you—“ He put his hands on Sam’s head to examine it.

“They got the violin. I’m sorry.”

Peter stilled for a moment. “You tried, Rob.” He put his hand under Sam’s arm to help him to his feet. “Anyway, it’s not as important as—“

“It _is_ important!” Sam swayed a little as he reached his feet. Peter’s grip tightened.

“Sam,” Al said, “take it easy!”

“We’ll…get another for the audition,” Sam said.

Peter let out a harsh laugh. “Audition with an unknown violin? Even if we could find a decent-sounding one in time, I’d just… No.”

“You have to try!”

Peter shook his head. “We’re taking you to the hospital.”

“The bleeding’s stopped, it’s nothing.” But Sam let Peter lead him towards the entrance of the alley.

“I’m the medical student here, remember?”

Al grinned. “Yeah, Sam. _Rob_ would let Peter overrule him.”

Sam sent a dirty look Al’s way. Peter halted under a street light to peer more closely at the injury. After a quick examination, Peter agreed that they could go back to Rob’s apartment to clean up. “I’ll get a taxi; no more walking.” Peter guided Sam to sit on a low wall by the sidewalk.

Al was surprised when Sam didn’t protest. As soon as Peter was out of ear shot, Sam turned to Al. “Why haven’t I Leaped?”

“Well, I…dunno.” Al scowled and looked down at the handlink. 

“I’m not paralyzed. So? Am I here for something else? What did you find out?”

“Not a lot. You haven’t met Peter before, but as for the rest, Ziggy’s having some trouble with that.” He slapped the handlink, then shook it, and hit it again. The handlink squealed. “Ah! Here… Oh.” Al read the information pouring from Ziggy.

“What?”

“You changed history, but…”

“What, Al?

Al looked up. “Rob dies in a fight with a fellow musician—Michael Pierce—a year from now.”

“A _year_?”

“Yeah. Look, Sam, there’s some confusion in Ziggy’s data. I’m going to go back and find out what’s going on. You stay out of any trouble before I get back, capiche?” He opened the chamber door. 

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice faded as Al closed the door. He walked quickly through the buffer zone between the imaging chamber and the control room. “Ziggy, what the hell—?” He stopped abruptly when Verbena met him at the door. Her expression sent a chill through him.

“Al,” she said, “we have to talk.”

She led him to his own office, which didn’t help to allay his alarm. He stubbed his cigar out and took a new one from the humidor as she settled herself in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Al kept his eyes on his hands as he prepared the cigar for lighting. “What is it?”

“This Leap has the potential to change the timeline of the Project and the life of a team member.”

“Who?” The cigar caught the flame smoke began to draw.

“Donna.”

None of the sudden turmoil he felt showed on his face. He had learned long ago how to control his reactions, if he wanted to. “How?”

“Peter Schuler.”

“The violinist.”

“And medical student. He and Donna are engaged at the time—when Sam is.”

Al puffed on the cigar. “The man she left before she—?”

“Married Sam. Yes.”

But Al remembered the original timeline, before Sam had started Leaping and had brought Donna and her father together. In that timeline, Donna left Peter Schuler and, later, left Sam Beckett at the church on the day they were to be wed. “What does Ziggy say?”

“Ziggy says there is a 61.2 percent chance Sam is there not only to keep Rob from being paralyzed, but also to make sure Peter goes through with his audition. In the original timeline, he didn’t.”

“And how will that affect Donna’s life?” And Sam, Al thought.

“We don’t know.”

Al gestured with the cigar. “Those are pretty low odds to be gambling the Project on.”

“Yes, but you know the calculations always are…difficult if team members’ lives are involved.”

“You mean Ziggy goes wonky.”

Verbena smiled, but said nothing.

“I heard that, Admiral.” Ziggy sounded petulant.

“You were meant to,” Al said, then he sighed as he looked back at Verbena. “What am I supposed to tell Sam, then?”

“I can’t tell you that, Al.”

“You’re the psychol —“ 

“We just don’t know enough about why he’s there, or what the effects will be.”

“But it is possible that if we tamper with Peter Schuler’s life, then we might affect Donna’s—and Sam’s?”

Verbena nodded.

“Does she know?”

“Donna is asleep.”

He’d forgotten the time.”

“Anyway, you know the policy on Leaps that might affect team members.”

They wouldn’t be told about the situation, if at all possible. He’d established that policy himself. “Given that Sam didn’t Leap after he prevented the paralysis…”

“The odds have gone up that he’s there to change Peter’s life as well. Although, again, we don’t know—“

“What we don’t know. Great.” Al pressed the comm link switch on his desk. “Gooshie, where’s Sam right now?”

“We believe he is in his apartment, Admiral.”

“All right.” He turned off the comm link and put down his cigar. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going, Al?”

He tilted his head a little as he looked at her. “Do you think I’m going to tell Donna?”

“No. I— If anyone can make those hard decisions, it’s you. We all know that.”

He nodded.

“It’s just…you don’t always need to make them on your own.” She hesitated a moment. “Or always decide against your own self interest.”

He let out a half laugh. “You have me confused with Sam, there.” He needed to turn the conversation. He opened his mouth but she beat him to it.

“That would be an impossibility. Go out for your…walk, then?”

He narrowed his eyes at her inflection. She smiled back him. He left the office as quickly as possible to mask the fact that it was a retreat. Verbena Beeks was an excellent psychologist, and critical to the Project for both staff and guests. He valued her contributions greatly, but that didn’t mean he wanted to know what she was thinking about him. 

Al hurried to his quarters, where he realized it was now after four in the morning. Christmas morning, he remembered. He hadn’t really celebrated Christmas since Sam had Leaped. That was why he had encouraged Tina to go home for the holidays—he preferred to ignore Christmas altogether. Al checked in once more with Gooshie, then donned his sweats and went out for a very early morning run. No one at the Project, except Tina, knew he went out on runs, and he rather thought Tina didn’t really believe it. Sam had known, of course. It had been Sam who had dragged him into the habit in the first place. It had been part of Project Save Al, after he’d brought Al in on the Quantum Leap Project. Al hated to admit it, but Sam had been right about the benefits of regular runs. It kept him in shape and helped keep him off too much alcohol.

The magic didn’t start until he was about a mile into the run through the darkness along the deserted road. His mind wandered as he settled into a comfortable rhythm, heart, lungs, and body working smoothly together. Then slowly, the nearly constant ball of anger, fear, and anguish that he had inside him disintegrated, flowing out of his body on his breaths. This was how he coped with Sam’s Leaps and all that had changed and been lost. It was how he coped with the failure of the retrieval program. It was how he coped with Donna.

He closed his eyes briefly. Donna had been quiet since Sam had Leaped home and then back again to save Al. They had all respected her desire for privacy. Al had admired her restraint. _Locate a star 43 lightyears from Earth_ , she had asked Ziggy. Al had helped her find it in the night sky, and he had felt, as she had, that brief connection with Sam. It had helped ease his own guilt. He didn’t remember much about their simul-Leap, but he knew that Sam had gone into the Accelerator to exchange places with him and save his life. Sam had been home with the love of his life, and he’d had to leave her because of Al. That was Sam Beckett for you, everyone said, including Donna. Only Al and Ziggy knew it was more complicated than that. 

He remembered clearly the moment he had walked out of the imaging chamber and seen Donna in the control room with Gooshie and Tina. He had stood still for a moment, with two very different timelines clashing in his brain. He’d _felt_ it as the “Donna” timeline had taken primary position, leaving the original timeline more like a dream than a memory. Yet, he did remember it. He remembered a timeline where Donna hadn’t been part of the Project or of Sam Beckett’s life after she’d broken their engagement. If he was being brutally honest with himself, he knew he preferred the original timeline. And that was what worried him: it could cloud his judgment on this Leap.

Donna’s sudden appearance had made Al realize some important aspects of the Project. The first was that he was the only one, aside from Ziggy, who retained anything of the original timelines. He always knew, except for the one time that he had Leaped, and his brain had become as Swiss-cheesed as Sam’s. It was somehow significant, Al thought, that Sam had immediately “remembered” Donna as his wife when he had changed places with Al. _Why didn’t you tell me?_ he’d demanded of Al, and Al had had no good answer for him. It had been Donna’s wish that Sam not know about her, so he would be free to act as he needed to on his Leaps. But Al wouldn’t have told him, even if Donna had asked him to. What was the truth, after all? Which version of the truth should he tell Sam? Would it change? He couldn’t tell Sam what he didn’t know for certain himself. He hadn’t mentioned Tom to Sam, either, after Tom had been saved. The theory was that Sam’s amnesia was more than just a side effect of Leaping and, until they knew more, discretion was warranted. Al was the one who made the decisions on what to tell and not tell Sam. He based his decisions on context, Sam’s need, and gut instinct. The fact that often the most out-of-control Leaps involved people Sam knew just reinforced Al’s caution.

The second realization he’d had was that the Project itself—or perhaps God, Time, Fate or Whatever—seemed to protect the Project’s integrity. Sam’s life had changed, and he’d married Donna, but it hadn’t had any effect on the Project, except that now Donna was a part of it. Her involvement on the Project hadn’t changed Al’s Observer status, or Gooshie’s role, or Tina’s. She had simply been slotted into a hole that hadn’t previously existed. It was that realization that kept Al so cautious. Sam had saved Tom, too, but having never “lost” Tom hadn’t altered Sam’s drive to make the Project a reality in that timeline, despite losing the subconscious goad of hoping to save his brother. The Project endured, which was both a relief to Al and a source of disquiet. 

He knew about some of the collateral damage and consequences of Sam’s Leaps, because they had affected him, or others he knew. But what about consequences they didn’t know about? Were they doing more good than harm? He hoped so, but he didn’t— _couldn’t_ know. 

Which brought him to the third realization: his own memory might be untrustworthy. He had seen the evidence that Sam’s memories came and went. What of his own? He certainly remembered many of the changes Sam had made, including those affecting Sam’s life and Al’s. But the unvarnished truth was there was no guarantee that his current life was the original one. There was no guarantee that his own memories were unaffected. Al had learned through experience to go with the flow, adjust as needed to changing circumstances. That ability had got him through the orphanage, the death of his father, capture in Vietnam, divorce. He had survived by keeping true to himself at all times. He was always free in his own mind, if nowhere else. But what if he could no longer trust his own mind?

Al suddenly realized he was breathing too heavily, slowed his pace, and stopped. He took a moment to catch his breath, then flung back his head and looked at the stars that punctured the darkness. “Damn you, Sam.” The words came from his gut and his heart, and contained all the conflicting feelings he had about Sam and the Project.

All they had going for them was the belief that Sam was doing good, that God, Time, Fate or Whatever was directing him to where he could do the most good. But Al had lost his faith in a higher power long ago. He could only put his faith in the one person he was certain of: Sam. He wanted Sam home, and happy. _That_ would be a Christmas present. He would do whatever it took to make that happen; and in the meantime, he’d see to Sam’s safety. Sam was the only anchor he had in a world that was no longer stable. He had to be certain his decisions were the best ones for Sam. 

Al turned and started back towards the compound, picking up speed quickly. He would play a waiting game with the information on Peter Schuler. The primary goal had to be Rob Stevenson’s life. The fact that Sam had changed Rob’s history, but the outcome had become worse, meant that there was more than met the eye about this Rob’s situation. So they would concentrate on that. It could, after all, be a coincidence that Donna was involved, though Al had come to distrust coincidence.

He blew his breath out hard. It didn’t help his decision making that he had never warmed to Donna. He couldn’t forget Sam’s anguish when she hadn’t shown up at the church for their wedding. Even in the altered timeline, he and she had never been particularly close. If he thought too much about how the two timelines fed off of each other, he got a headache. The bottom line was this: if this Leap changed Sam and Donna’s history so they weren’t together, he wouldn’t exactly object to that. But it wasn’t his needs that were paramount.

Donna had suffered because of her commitment to Sam. In the original history, she had left him out of fear of abandonment. In the new history, she hadn’t feared abandonment, but she had, in a sense, experienced it. Al also couldn’t deny or forget that Sam had changed, too. It would be ridiculous to think he wouldn’t change, with all that he was experiencing. Sam had dealt with too many life and death situations to be unaffected. He had hardened, even if he remained committed to his ideals. He had killed. He was, Al thought, very like the soldiers he had known. What would happen when he returned home? How many soldiers had Al known whose marriages had crumbled upon their return? But again, it wasn’t Donna’s needs that were paramount in Al’s mind.

The complex came into sight. Al slowed his pace, then dropped into a walk. Sam was, in many ways, a prisoner of fate as surely as Al had been a prisoner of the Viet Cong. He needed a home to come back to. He needed Donna in that home. It was as simple as that in the end, and Al would see to it.

“No greater love, right?” He mocked himself with the words, and yet the truth was there, and always had been. He had never been one to duck hard truths. 

A guard met him at the entrance to the compound. “Sir, you’re needed immediately in the control—“ 

Al sprinted down the corridors and into the control room. “Goosh—“

“Ziggy says the fight that was supposed to happen in a year is happening right now!” Gooshie stumbled over the words, trying to push Al towards the imaging chamber and shove the handlink into his hand at the same time. “60 percent chance Sam will die!”

Al didn’t waste time with words, just grabbed the handlink and headed straight for the chamber, pushing buttons as he went. The door closed behind him, and with the usual sickening lurch, he was suddenly in an apartment lit by lamplight. He saw Sam punch a man, who staggered back. Sam took a step forward, fists raised—and Al saw a man behind Sam raise a handgun. “Sam! Roll!” He barked the order.

Sam obeyed instantly, then turned the roll to his advantage. A gunshot reverberated in the apartment, even as Sam lunged forward from the floor towards the man with the gun.

“Sam!” He’d never make it, Al thought. He gripped the handlink tightly, uselessly. Somehow, Sam grabbed the man’s arm as a second shot fired, diverting the bullet to a wall. Al spared a brief thought to hope the bullet hadn’t gone through the wall and into another apartment, or the hallway--but most of his attention was fixed on Sam, who was struggling with the man. Sam jabbed at the man, got an elbow into his neck, and then it was over. The man fell to the floor, gasping, and Sam had the gun in his hand.

“Stay.” Sam pointed the gun at the man on the floor. “Peter?” Sam didn’t turn his head.

“Michael’s been hit.” Al turned to find Peter Schuler on the floor next to the man Sam had punched. Peter’s hands on the man’s legs were covered with blood. “We need an ambulance!”

Sam kept the gun trained on the man on the floor, but he glanced around the room.

“You have to secure him, Sam,” Al said.

“How?”

There was a sudden pounding on the door. “Michael?” It was a man’s voice.

Sam stepped towards the door.

“Careful, Sam.” Al’s mind was racing. _Michael_ …Michael Pierce? It must be, and this must be his flat. Al poked at the handlink, calling up any information they had that might be of use to Sam.

Sam opened the door. “We need police and an ambulance right away.”

“What the hell?” A middle-aged, dark haired man took a step into the apartment. He stopped as he saw the gun in Sam’s hand. Al saw there was a woman behind the man, hesitating in the hallway. 

“Police,” Sam said. “And an ambulance.” He gestured towards the man on the floor. “He shot Michael.”

“Judy, call the police and an ambulance.” The man stayed still, eyeing Sam.

“The police are probably already on their way,” the woman said, but she turned in the hallway and walked across to the open door of an apartment.

“I need help!” It was Peter, still on his knees beside Michael. “He’s bleeding too much.” 

“Can you keep him covered?” Sam spoke to the dark-haired man, gesturing again to the man on the floor.

“Yes.” 

“Sam—let me just check this guy out…” 

Sam hesitated, his eyes on the man, then he handed him the gun.

“It’s all right,” Al said, a bit exasperated the decision had already been made. “Ziggy says he’s former military. Honorably discharged. Name is Richard  
Thorpe.”

Thorpe trained the gun on the man on the floor. Sam turned and hurried over to Peter and Michael. Al watched as Sam and Peter worked together to put pressure on the bullet wound in Michael’s leg. “Probably nicked the femoral artery,” Peter said. “Keep the pressure on there!” 

Sam murmured a reply.

“What the hell happened here, Sam? _Why_ are you here?”

“I’m sorry about the violin,” Sam said to Peter, but his eyes met Al’s.

“Aw, Sam, not again!” 

Peter shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped.” His eyes were fixed on Michael.

“Wait,” Al said. “Did he—Michael Pierce—have it?” At Sam’s nod, Al raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so maybe that caused the fight a year on, which…isn’t going to happen now?” He consulted the handlink.

“Could be,” Sam said.

“What?” Peter looked up.

“Could be…we’ll save him.”

“If the paramedics would damn well get here!”

“Here they come,” Al said, peering out the window. In short order the room was filled with police and an ambulance crew. The paramedics took over for Sam and Peter, while the police handcuffed the man on the floor, whose name was Drake, according to Sam.

“He stole Peter’s violin,” Sam reported to the police, after he had washed the blood off his hands. “Earlier this evening.”

“Where is the violin now?” the police officer asked.

“It was destroyed in the fight.” Sam glanced towards Peter, who had walked over to the obvious remains of the violin. 

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Michael Pierce,” Sam gestured towards the injured man being lifted to a stretcher, “apparently hired Drake and another man to steal the violin.”

The officer was writing on a small notepad. “And how did you find out?”

“We started thinking about who had motive to steal it. Peter has an audition with the Boston Pops tomorrow. So does Michael.”

The police officer frowned. “Stealing the violin would prevent the audition?”

“It could. Or it might sabotage it.”

“We are going to need full statements from you and Mr. Schuler. I’m asking you to come to the station with us now, while we get this figured out.”

“Yes, of course,” Sam said. “Peter?”

Peter nodded. He walked away from the destroyed violin, his expression blank.

“If you will come with me.” The policeman led the two men out of the apartment as more police arrived.

“I’ll meet you at the police station,” Al said. Sam looked at him, but with so many other people around, it was impossible for him to say anything. Al opened the chamber door and left Sam’s world behind. He took a moment to lean against the closed door, eyes closed. Sam was all right. “Ziggy, get me everything you can on Michael Pierce and this whole case.”

“Already done, Admiral. As you would know if you’d look at the handlink.”

“I don’t suppose Sam is Leaping even as we are talking?”

“No, Admiral. I am continuing to calculate the odds.”

Al sighed. It was time to face the unpalatable reality that changing Peter’s life was part of the hand they’d been dealt. So, then it became a question of how much to tell Sam. Al was damned if he had an answer for that one. He went in search of a cigar to fortify himself with before he returned to Sam. 

There was no opportunity for a private word with Sam when he arrived at the police station. He and Peter were taken to separate rooms to make their statements. Al supplied Sam with the personal history he needed in order to complete the statement, and he discovered that Sam and Peter had gone to Michael’s apartment to confront him about the violin.

“Aw, Sam.” Al flung up his arms. “Was that because I told you about the future fight? Geez, I’m not going to tell you anything if you’re going to leap to conclusions—“

“I was right,” Sam hissed at Al.

“Right about what?” The policeman who was taking down Sam’s statement paused.

“So you should have called the police.” Al waved his cigar in the direction of the police officer.

Sam ignored Al. “About Pierce’s obsession with beating Peter, which is why he took the violin.”

The officer shook his head. “It’s crazy. And this has been going on since…?”

“Since they were kids in the same violin competitions,” Al said around his cigar. Sam dutifully repeated the information for the statement.

“We arrived to find Pierce being confronted by…Drake, I think his name is.”

“Christian Drake, who has a long criminal record,” Al said.”

“It was Drake who stole the violin earlier this evening,” Sam continued.

“You did report the earlier robbery, I see,” the officer said. “But you didn’t think to call us when you thought of Pierce’s motivation?”

“Exactly,” Al interpolated.

Sam looked guilty. “To tell you the truth, I thought it was too much of a long shot to bother you with.”

Al took the cigar out of his mouth. “Don’t give me that. You thought you’d handle it yourself.”

“So you just handled it yourself—and nearly got yourselves killed.” The policeman appeared as unimpressed as Al was with Sam’s reasoning. He took down the rest of Sam’s statement about what had happened at Pierce’s apartment. “Well, that’s all we need from you right now. We’ll get this typed up and have you come in tomorrow to sign it. We have your contact information for further inquiries.”

“And Peter? He’s staying with me.”

“I’ll check on him now. Please stay here.” The officer left the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Sam, what did you think you were doing?” Al paced the room, needing an outlet for nervous energy. It had been too damn close. If he hadn’t got there at that precise moment, if Sam hadn’t been so quick to obey him…

“Saving Rob’s life.”

“By getting him into a _firefight_?”

“I didn’t know Drake would be there with a gun! Look, in the original history you said he died in a fight with Pierce—“

“In a _year_.”

“Well, I didn’t have a year!” Sam looked exasperated. “I mentioned Pierce’s name to Peter, just to see—“

“And you two put two and two together and came up with ‘Let’s go get ourselves killed!’” Al waved his cigar for emphasis.

“We didn’t—“ Sam cut his own words off. “It was a long shot, Al. But it made sense for the future fight. I—Rob—would have recognized the violin.”

“Pierce would have kept it?”

“ _That_ violin? Yes.”

Al shook his head. “Well, it’s a moot point now.” 

“Yes! Everything’s fine, right? So, why am I still here?”

“Well…” Al consulted the handlink. “Ziggy’s running scenarios.”

“It has to be Peter and his audition, right?”

It felt as if there were a rock in Al’s stomach. “Maybe, but the violin’s busted. That’s twice now that it’s been lost without you being able to stop it from happening. Maybe that’s a sign—“

“Maybe I’m here to convince Peter to audition anyway. To…stick with it through…adversity.” There was an odd tone to Sam’s voice. He looked as if he was trying to remember something.

“Sam.” Al kept his own voice calm and steady. “We ran that scenario. Nothing bad happens to Peter if he doesn’t audition. He graduates from med school and goes on—“ A squeal from the handlink interrupted him.

“What does Ziggy say?”

Al perused the handlink information, then gave it a good shake to make certain what he was seeing didn’t change. “Well, you _did_ change history, Sam. Peter now goes on to be a trauma surgeon.”

Sam nodded. “He kept his head at the scene, did what he could for Pierce.”

“Well, there you go, then.” Al put as much relief into his voice as he could muster. “You don’t need to change anything in Peter’s life.”

“Then why haven’t I Leaped?” 

Al hunched his shoulders. “Well, it could be something else. Maybe it’s Rob—“

“Or there’s something more about Peter we don’t know. So, he’s a trauma surgeon—is he happy? Is he married? What else does Ziggy know?”

“I don’t—“ Al poked at the handlink, trying to hide his misgivings from Sam. “We don’t know much. No, he’s not married. But he’s well-respected, got awards—what else do you want, Sam?”

“Maybe it’s his dream. Maybe I’m here to make sure he gets his dream.”

“Then why didn’t you Leap in earlier, with more time to save the violin? Don’t forget, Rob was paralyzed in the original history, and then killed in the other version.”

“What about Rob? What happens to him now?”

Al took in a calming breath as he consulted the handlink. “Well, he…is still a musician. Never made it big, but he’s managed to cobble enough together to survive.”

“So, we’re back to Peter. There has to be more we can find out.”

Al looked at him. “I’m giving you all the data we’re certain about, Sam. We’re in the middle of a Leap and things have already changed. It’s complicated.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was close enough to one that Al chomped on the cigar and slapped the handlink.

“I know. I understand about flux and…consequences.”

“Do you?” Al immediately regretted the words.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Al looked down, ostensibly at the handlink. “Things _change_ , Sam, after your Leaps.”

“I know that! That’s why—“

“No. I mean, other things. Things that aren’t immediately apparent on the Leap. It hasn’t been anything world-shaking— _yet_ —but—”

“We have to trust that whoever, whatever is Leaping me around has a plan.

“I haven’t got your faith, Sam. You know that.”

Sam held his gaze for a moment, then looked down. 

“Peter Schuler has helped a lot of people as a trauma surgeon. What if you take that away?”

“I’m here for a reason!”

“We’ll find it.” Al hoped. “Just give us some time to run the scenarios. Okay?”

It appeared reluctant, but Sam did nod. 

Al breathed out, then poked again at the handlink. “Ziggy is checking—“

“Al?” Sam’s voice was quieter.

“What?” Al slapped the handlink in hopes of rearranging the letters on the screen that weren’t, it appeared, spelling English words. Ziggy was obviously trying to make a point about predictions, or maybe about Al.

“What are you wearing?”

Al looked up in surprise. “What?”

“I didn’t even notice it, with all this stuff going on.” A slow smile lit Sam’s face. “You still go running?”

Al blinked, then he rolled his eyes. “ _That_ , you remember.”

“You complained every single time we went out.”

“I still do.” 

“So, why do you do it?”

“I don’t know. Habit.” Al shrugged, then pointed at Sam with his cigar. “A _bad_ habit.”

“Maybe you should choose your friends more carefully.”

“I do.” Al met Sam’s eyes, allowed his affection to show. “But I never said they weren’t a pain in the butt.”

Sam shook his head, the smile lingering around his mouth. “I think I know why I’m here, Al.”

Al put the cigar in his mouth to take a puff. “Why?”

“To be a friend. Fix the consequences.”

Al narrowed his eyes. “You can’t always fix things, Sam.”

Sam tilted his head. “I can try.”

“Dammit. There are _always_ consequences.”

“Sometimes, they’re worth it.”

“Collateral damage. Unintended consequences.”

“I know! Do you think I don’t know?” Sam took a step towards Al, then stopped. “ _You’ve_ paid for my—in Vietnam—“ He cut himself off.

Al looked down. He had wondered how much, if anything Sam remembered from that Leap. Was it selfish of him that he was glad Sam remembered?

“I’m sorry, Al.” Sam whispered the words.

“Don’t. I made my choice.” Al raised his head. “I’d make it again.” 

Sam reached towards Al, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Al. That’s why—“ He broke off as they both heard the handle on the door turn. They turned towards it, instinctively stepping away from each other. 

The door opened fully and the police officer walked back into the room, followed by Peter. “Well,” the policeman said, “your stories match. And I’ve received word from the hospital that Michael Pierce corroborates you as well.”

Sam’s eyebrows went up. Peter nodded and spoke to Sam: “He’s a decent guy, underneath the…”

“Jealousy? Obsession?”

Peter shrugged

The policeman gestured towards the door. “You two are free to go. We would appreciate it if you’d stop by tomorrow to sign your statements.”

“Yes, we’ll be here,” Sam said. They watched as the policeman left the room. Sam turned to Peter. “Ready to go home?”

Peter nodded. His face was pale, exhaustion clearly stamped on his features. “Yes. _All_ the way home.”

“Peter.” Sam glanced at Al. “Listen to me—“

Peter raised his hand in a stopping motion. “Enough, Rob. Really, hasn’t enough happened already? My violin is gone, I won’t be getting any sleep tonight. I just want to go back to UCLA—“

“UCLA,” Sam repeated, so slowly that Al peered at him.

“What’s wrong, Sam?”

“UCLA,” Sam’s gaze centered on Peter, “in California.” His tone was one of discovery.

“Yes.” Peter looked more than a bit puzzled. “Where I’m going to buckle down in med school and—“

“Become a fine trauma surgeon.”

“Sam!” Al slapped his own forehead. “He doesn’t know—“

“Trauma?” Peter’s brows drew together.

“Or…whatever,” Sam spoke over them both. “But you handled Michael’s injury like a pro.”

“Maybe.” There was a bit of a smile on Peter’s lips. “The rush was a bit like opening night.”

“There you go,” Sam said. “But.” He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Sam.” Al put all his doubts, all his hope for Sam’s happiness in his voice. “Don’t.”

Sam looked directly at Al. “Trust me?”

“Of course…” Peter sounded puzzled.

Al sighed, but he gazed unafraid at Sam. “Always.”

Sam looked back at Peter. “You’ve worked too damn hard to get this audition. You can’t just give up on it.”

“There’s no chance.” Peter’s voice was low, anguish beneath it.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you won’t get any peace, and you won’t know unless you try!”

“I…” Peter closed his eyes. 

“You’re afraid of failing. I understand that. Anyone would understand that. But when it comes right down to it, the result doesn’t matter nearly as much as the _trying_. If you don’t try, if you don’t try even once to…reach…”

“For that impossible star?” Al spoke around his cigar.

Sam nodded but didn’t look at him. “Yes, reach for the impossible. If you don’t try, when you’re _this_ close, you’ll never get over it. It’ll affect _everything_ in your life. Believe me, I know. So maybe you don’t make it into the Boston Pops, okay, that’s terrible. But at least you’ll be able to hold your head high. At least—“ Sam paused, glanced at Al, then back at Peter. “At least you’ll be able to face your fiancée.” He swallowed. “How can you go back to…to Donna and tell her you gave up?”

Al froze, he couldn’t even breathe for a moment. Sam couldn’t know. Did he?

“She believes in you. Not for what happens in this single audition, but _in you_. Wherever you choose to go, whatever you _choose_ to become.” And now Sam’s eyes met Al’s for a long moment. Al felt helpless before that look, and only breathed when Sam turned back to Peter. “Trust me. I know what that kind of loyalty is like. She deserves someone who is worthy of that.”

“Aww, Sam.” Al’s throat felt tight.

Peter swallowed. He looked away, then back at Sam. “Do you really think we can find a violin?”

Sam’s hand closed on Peter’s shoulder, and he shook him a little bit. “I’m certain of it.”

Peter sighed. “Let’s go back home, then—to your place.”

Sam smiled, looked at Al and back at Peter. “Listen, I uh, saw some cabs in front of the police station. You grab one and I’ll be right down, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Peter turned towards the door, then looked back. “Thank you.” He took in a deep breath. “I may hate you tomorrow, but…”

Sam smiled. “I know.” The door closed behind Peter. “Consequences, Al, isn’t that what you said?” Sam’s voice was soft, yet there was a certainty in it that spoke of hard truths. “What happens now?”

Al closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at the handlink. “You knew.”

“He told me about his fiancée Donna, but it didn’t click into place until he said UCLA.” Sam turned and faced Al. “He’s the man Donna left at the altar before me. That’s why I knew his name.”

Al peered at Sam. Which history did Sam remember?

“I changed her history, didn’t I?”

“When?” Al asked carefully.

“Before.” Sam breathed in deeply. “There was a history when Donna didn’t marry me, right?”

“Yes. In one of your first Leaps. You united her with her father, so she no longer had such a fear of abandonment. In the original history, she left you at the church, just like she left Peter.”

“I changed that, but she still left him.” Sam looked down. “I never knew why. She said he wasn’t the man she thought he was.” Sam let out a long sigh. “So she married me…and I abandoned her by Leaping.”

Al took his cigar out of his mouth. “She’s part of the Project. She knew—“

“I remember now. I remember her pain, when I went home, and when I left again.” He looked at Al. “When we simul-Leaped. And…I…I remember, you standing with me, in a church, and you were angry.”

Al rubbed a hand over his face. “Two different pasts. Your Swiss-cheesed brain is mixing them up.”

Sam’s gaze was level. “You’re the one constant, aren’t you, Al? In all my memories. You stood beside me when Donna ran from me. You were the reason I left her.”

Al closed his eyes at what felt like a body blow. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“It was _my_ choice.” Sam looked away. “What happens now? To them? Rob and Peter and…Donna?”

Al still didn’t want to look, but he knew he had to. He cleared his throat and looked at the data Ziggy was feeding into the handlink. “Well…Peter…makes it to the audition and does well, but he doesn’t make it into the orchestra. He becomes a trauma surgeon—in fact, he’s chief of surgery at UCLA.” Al paused, then forced the words out. “He’s married to Donna, who teaches and does research at UCLA. They have two children.”

Sam nodded. “And Rob?”

“Oh. Uh…” Al manipulated the buttons to call up the relevant data. “Rob. Huh. He’s a teacher now, Sam. Teaches music at his own academy…and a number of his students have gone on to prestigious careers. He’s known to be an inspirational teacher.”

“Well, he did convince Peter to try.”

“That was you, Sam. Maybe Peter retains some memory of it, but that was all you.” He sighed as he put the handlink into his pocket.“ But at what price?”

“I set her free.”

“You didn’t ask her if she wanted to be free.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Sam. You always assume you know what’s best—“

“Was she happy? All these years I’ve been Leaping?”

Al couldn’t answer that. In truth, he didn’t know. 

“You know, she always said she knew where she was with me—that I saw things through to the end, no matter what.”

“Oh. Pig-headedness, you mean.”

Sam grinned briefly. “She didn’t call it that. But, yeah, you could be right. And I think that’s what Peter was missing—what he just proved to her he was capable of.”

“But he’s not you. Dammit, Sam.” Al didn’t hide the anguish in his voice. “She’s the love of your life. You sacrificed your own happiness—“

“No. I was selfish.” Sam spoke over Al’s words, although he didn’t raise his voice.

“What?” Al looked at him. “What did you say?”

Sam walked towards him, and only stopped when he would have walked right through Al. “I was selfish. She’s collateral…whatever the opposite of ‘damage’ is.”

“I don’t follow.”

“How much do you remember of our simul-Leap?”

“Not much. Mostly what I’ve been told.” He remembered the aftermath. He remembered standing with Donna as she’d searched for a star to share with Sam. He remembered the desolation. Sharing didn’t make it easier; it made it worse, somehow.

“I chose you, Al. Do you understand me? I chose _you_. That’s why I had to free Donna.”

“Well, as I understand it, you Leaped in order to save me from certain death! That’s just you, Sam. That’s not anything—“

“I’ve sacrificed innocents before.” There was a look in Sam’s eyes that Al recognized—hardness and anguish combined. “You’re my constant, Al, my North Star—through every Leap, every history. You. I love Donna, I want her to be happy. But I _need_ you. I’ve known that for years, I think. Even before…” He wet his lower lip, as if it were dry. “It wasn’t until I was Leaping that I realized.” Sam met Al’s gaze. “You’re all I want. If you’ll have me, I’ll hold on to you with everything I have.” He swallowed. “I might have to hold on to you even if…you don’t.”

“Sam.” Al stared at him. His heart was beating so fast he was surprised Ziggy hadn’t alerted security. “Are you talking about… I mean…”

“Everything. _Everything_.”

Al looked at him, completely lost for words.

“You know, I’ve learned some things on these Leaps, Al. Things I could teach even you.” Al hadn’t known Sam could look salacious.

He found himself laughing. “Sam Beckett, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is it working?”

He wasn’t about to admit anything so dangerous, even to Sam. “Safe enough, when we can’t even touch. Anyway, it’s your Swiss-cheesed—you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know!”

“I’m always telling you what you don’t know!”

“Al!” Sam turned away, and when he turned back, his expression was rueful. “Dammit. You are the one person who is, sometimes, even more pig-headed than I am.”

“Well, that’s true.” Al puffed on the dregs of his cigar. He asked the question that scared him the most: “What do you want from me, Sam?”

“When I come home, I want to come home to you.” Sam’s expression was open, vulnerable. It stole Al’s breath. His heart, of course, had been mended and then stolen by this same man years ago. He had never let that fact interfere with Sam’s needs.

“You’ve become dependent on me, your only link.”

“Yes.”

“When you come home, it’ll be different. Your life—“

“Al. I _was_ home. Now I know what was missing. Who was missing.”

“You forgot Donna when you Leaped.”

“I remember her now. I know what I’m doing. I love you, Al. I won’t sacrifice _you_.”

Al closed his eyes. “When are you coming home, Sam?”

“I don’t know. But I do know you’re tough enough to hold on. If you love me.”

Al looked at him, and at the faith in Sam’s eyes. He would willingly surrender for that look. “I swear at you, you know.”

“You always have.” Sam took in a breath, as if the worst was behind him. His smile was brilliant. “I will come home, Al. If you’re there, I won’t give up trying.”

“Some people would consider that a form of blackmail, Dr. Beckett.”

“Is it working, Admiral Calavicci?” Sam’s expression suddenly changed, as if he’d heard an internal alarm. “Al…”

 _Shit_. Al closed his eyes again, briefly. He knew that tone of voice. He put up his hand, as he had once done with little Teresa Bruckner. “I’ll be here, Sam. Always.”

Sam matched his hand carefully to Al’s. They couldn’t touch, but Al could swear he felt something connecting them. “Trust me, Al. And…Merry Christmas.”

Al stared at him. “How did you…?” But Sam Leaped and Al was left in an Imaging Chamber that had lost all its magic. He looked down at his hand, where Sam hadn’t touched him. He rubbed his palm with his other fingers. “Merry Christmas, Sam,” he whispered. And for the first time, he said it out loud: “I love you, too.”

END  
December 2013

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide in December 2013. Thank you to my wonderful friends for beta-ing, editing, and general handholding!


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